


Twirl Me Around

by letsgogetlost, Petits Pois (letsgogetlost)



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amputee Bucky Barnes, Avengers on skates, Deaf Clint Barton, M/M, Mild Language, Past Clint/Loki, basically Clint has had Some Struggles as usual, figure skating AU, mention of past abusive relationship, mentions of past homophobia and ableism, slight hockey AU too, zamboni as plot device
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 21:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11298990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letsgogetlost/pseuds/letsgogetlost, https://archiveofourown.org/users/letsgogetlost/pseuds/Petits%20Pois
Summary: Clint Barton isn't your typical figure skater - but who is, really? No one at Steve and Tony's rink, that's for sure. And sure he has baggage, but so does everyone else. And everyone in their little skating family protects and supports each other.Everyone. Even the slightly scary, very beautiful man who drives the Zamboni.





	Twirl Me Around

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, so please let me know if you notice mistakes.
> 
> Signing in ASL is indicated by single quotation marks and italics - _'Like this.'_ I did not attempt to replicate signed grammar/syntax.
> 
>  
> 
> Some of the negative experiences Clint mentions, especially with regard to homophobia, are based on things I have witnessed as a lifelong figure skating fan. Things seem to be changing for the better on that front, but it still goes on. (And I could rant about it forever, but this is not the time nor the place.)

_’I’m bored.’_

Natasha gave Clint a look from the other end of the loveseat, and kicked his foot. _'It hasn’t even started,'_ she shot back, with her fast, sharp signs.

Clint heaved a sigh and looked down at his hands, and started picking at the dark purple nail polish on his thumbnail. He’d let Wanda paint his fingernails for the Grand Prix Finals banquet, and he actually liked how it looked, but now he was antsy. It didn’t seem likely that the already-chipped polish would last the night.

The finals had been in Toronto, so they’d all made it to back to New York before the highlights were even aired on US TV. Everyone, or almost everyone, had really wanted to get together and watch. And Clint had somehow been convinced it would be fun, even though he hated watching himself skate. He could never manage to just enjoy it - it always turned into a training exercise, an anxious dissection of every single mistake he’d made. Though at that moment the mistake he was most upset about was agreeing to come along in the first place. He’d been enticed by an offer of pizza, and now he was full of regrets. Regrets and delicious pizza.

All around Clint and Natasha, their skating family was settling in - coaches and rink staff and all the other skaters, curling up on the other couches, pulling up chairs, or just flopping on the floor. So many people. 

The rink’s owners and head coaches, Steve (Clint and Tasha’s coach) and his husband Tony, were on the couch to Clint’s left, talking to Bruce, the rink’s sports psychologist. The twins - the new pair on the senior scene - were nearby, Wanda in a chair, Pietro sprawled at her feet and already looking as fidgety as Clint felt. Pepper, the rink’s business manager, was leaning over the back of their loveseat now, talking to Tasha. Several other skaters - Sam, Sharon, T’challa, Tony’s new Juniors protégé Peter - were scattered around, and the rest of the rink staff, too. 

Clint kept his eyes on his fingernails, still picking, little flakes of polish flying off. He and Tasha had brand new Grand Prix Final pairs silver medals in their lockers. Still didn’t mean he was super comfortable watching himself skate. Seeing everyone else’s routines would be fun, but…

 

Steve shifted in Clint’s peripheral vision, sitting up suddenly, and Clint followed his gaze to the TV across the room. It was just showing introductory shots of Toronto, slightly laggy closed captions describing a shot of the CN Tower that wasn’t on screen anymore. He looked back at Steve - he was saying something, looking at the TV. Something sharp, Tony frowning beside him. 

Clint looked at Tasha, hoping she’d tell him what was going on, why Steve was pissed, but she wasn’t looking at him - her eyes were on the screen, and although she was much better at hiding her emotions than Steve, there was something hot and angry in her eyes. Which was weird, but worse when she looked at Clint and it disappeared. She was hiding it from him. Concealing that she was upset, which meant she was probably trying to protect him.

 _’What?’_ he signed at her, frowning. Her eyes shot over his shoulder to Steve, who was waving his phone around now while Tony tried to grab it. “Tasha,” he said out loud, signing it too, more urgent now, “What.”

She didn’t have a chance to explain, though, because then Clint saw for himself - there, on the screen. Loki Laufeyson. Clint’s… ex wasn’t the right word. Clint’s former tormentor, more like.

For a moment, Clint just blinked at the screen. The closed captions were still lagging, talking about the competition, but it was obvious Loki was there to do commentary - he was in the commentator’s box, wearing a mic, hair and clothes perfect as always, smiling his terrible perfect smile, chatting with an older skater-turned-commentator Clint had actually kind of liked in the past, kind of trusted.

Clint stood up, turning his head from the screen to see that the room was in chaos. Steve was on his feet too, yelling into his phone at someone, Tony talking to him at the same time - probably trying to do disaster control, keep Steve from saying anything too rash and damaging to whoever was on the other end of the phone line. Tasha looked ready to jump into the fray, though she was probably on the side of rash and damaging. Several of the other skaters and staff members just looked confused, but Sam caught Clint’s eye and signed a quick _’OK?’_ , checking in with him.

Clint nodded, and then was out the room without another thought. He couldn’t stand the sight of Loki’s face on the screen, the thought of him laying his too-perfect, sneering words over everyone’s programs - not just Clint and Tasha’s, but everyone else’s too, all those skaters Clint knew, liked, admired. Steve was obviously extremely pissed about it, was coming to Clint’s and probably everyone else’s defense, and that was reassuring, but Clint needed to get away from there. Needed to process. 

 

He headed straight to his safe space. To the rink. To the highest row of the bleacher seats, where he often perched - hid, really - watching other skaters’ practices and public skating sessions, or just looking out at the empty ice and thinking. Which was what he needed to do right then.

The lights were only half on in the rink space, the ice and most of the bleachers shadowy, though Clint’s spot was fairly well-lit by the safety lighting. It didn’t really matter. He settled in and let his eyes drift mostly closed and just breathed, like Bruce had taught him. It took him a while to get centered, and longer to realize he wasn’t alone.

The realization didn’t freak him out like it once might have done. Anyone who was there while the rink was closed to the public would be part of the rink family. A friend. This place, these people, were safe.

 

He opened his eyes and saw long, messy dark hair. Piercing eyes, watching Clint cautiously, like he was an animal about to bolt. 

Bucky Barnes was standing a few rows down on the bleacher steps. Giving Clint his space, but very much there.

That was unexpected. Clint had thought it would be Sam, maybe, or Tasha, or Steve if he had calmed down. Or one or the other of the twins, or both of them - they’d grown pretty attached to Clint. Even Tony wouldn’t be past the realm of possibility, though that would be less for sympathy and more for shit-talking.

But Bucky… Clint barely knew Bucky. No one really knew him, except Steve. But there he was, staring up at Clint, and then moving his right hand - he was signing, one-handed. He wasn’t wearing his prosthesis. He started with _’You OK?’_. When Clint answered with a somewhat befuddled shrug, Bucky followed it with _’Can I come up there?’_

Clint nodded. What else could he do? Turn him away? No. Bucky was part of the rink family. And he looked so sincere. So concerned. So intense.

Well, he always looked intense, but it had never been focused on Clint like that before.

And also, he signed??

So yeah, Clint nodded, and Bucky came up, and sat down near him, but not too close.

 _‘Everyone’s really angry,’_ Bucky informed him. It was slow and stilted, awkward with only one hand, but clear. He had the grammar and everything.

_‘I didn’t know you knew ASL.’_

“Not a lot. Don’t deflect,” Bucky said, out loud, and Clint laughed because it was such a ‘I’ve been to therapy and I know you have too’ kind of thing to say. “But really,” Bucky continued, and switched back to ASL. _‘How are you feeling?’_

And suddenly, the answer was that Clint felt like crying. He didn’t do it - the urge came up fast and ebbed away almost as quickly. But he had to take a deep breath to keep from getting swept up in it. He’d gone through pure panic, and disbelief, and now apparently he was on pure overwhelm.

“Upset,” he answered, saying and signing it, then switching over to speech only as he went on. It seemed easier, especially since he didn’t know how good Bucky’s ASL comprehension was. “And frustrated. I’ve spent so long - I mean, my whole skating career really - just trying to be seen as legitimate skater in my own right. Not just a novelty or an inspiration or a weirdo…” He heaved a big sigh and rubbed the back of his neck, eyes on the floor for a moment before he looked back up at Bucky. “And part of that was the commentators, because they always just want to talk about my hearing, or my sexuality after all that happened, and now futzing _Loki_ …” He considered Bucky for a moment, because he looked a little overwhelmed. Confused maybe. “Do you know about all that?”

Bucky shook his head, and Clint laughed softly. “Right. You’re hockey.” Tasha had told Clint that Bucky had been a really good collegiate hockey player, tipped for the NHL, before he’d gotten hurt. “I, um… Loki was my boyfriend. A long time ago. When I was like twenty, twenty-one? My second season skating with Tasha. And it… futz, it was bad. I was vulnerable, he was awful. Abusive. Tasha managed to get me out of it. And then a while later, when he was retiring and it wouldn’t affect him anymore, he outed both of us. And then suddenly it wasn’t just the ‘Because he’s Deaf we'll just assume he can’t be good with his music’ stuff, it was also ‘Because he’s not straight he and Natasha can’t tell a good story on ice because it's not romantic,’ which, bullshit, but… Now he’s doing commentary? He’s so nasty. And he doesn’t admire other skaters, you know? Hell, he doesn’t even _like_ other skaters. He’s the worst person to be talking about what we do.” He stopped, took a breath, eyes closing for a moment. “Sorry. That was a lot.”

Bucky shook his head. “It’s all right. Are you… I can go get Tasha or Steve or someone.” He was already shifting away.

“No,” he said, and it must have been louder or sharper than he intended, because Bucky froze. “Uh… no?” he tried again, a little softer. “I’m good with you being here. If you don’t mind me being all worked up.”

Bucky shook his head again, dark hair brushing his jawline and making Clint’s stomach tighten a little, which was nice - it meant he was evening out a little, if he was noticing things like that. “I can stay. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I figured once they were done freaking out, you’d rather have one of them? Or, uh, anyone but me?”

Clint shrugged, but then frowned when his last words sunk in. “No, wait - what? Why?”

That was met with a grimace. “I thought you didn’t like me very much?”

“No, I - what - I hardly know you.” There had been that one time in early summer, when Bucky was pretty new at the rink, when Clint had found Bucky shooting pucks late at night, and they’d had a shoot-out. And that had been fun, and he’d wanted it to happen again, but it never had. And beyond that, they had barely interacted all year.

“I dunno, we don’t talk. And you called me the Zamboni Dick once.”

“WHAT.” But wait, no… aw, nope, he remembered that. “Futz. That was supposed to be friendly. ‘Cause I, uh… I was up here one night this fall, after an open skate - I hide up here…” Bucky nodded at that - he knew that, of course. He’d known just where to find Clint. When he’d come after him. Which Clint couldn’t even think about right then. “Anyway. I was up here and you were cleaning the ice and you totally drew a dick with the Zamboni. And it was AWESOME. So I thought, I’ll mention it… we’ll laugh…” Instead Bucky had looked stricken and walked away and Clint had felt bad for spying on him. “Futz. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound like an insult.”

Bucky was just staring at him, face completely blank, and for a moment Clint thought he’d messed it all up, again. But then Bucky burst out laughing. And it was _great_. Clint had never seen him laugh like that. It changed his whole face, his whole demeanor. Even his body seemed to sit looser, more comfortable, as he guffawed. And when he’d gotten control of himself he looked at Clint with crinkled, tear-filled eyes, still grinning, and _futz_. Clint had already had a crush, but now it was a lot worse. “Zamboni dick,” Bucky said, and shook his head at Clint, and it was… fond, maybe? That was new. After a moment Bucky broke their eye contact, which had maybe been lingering awkwardly long, and looked down at the ice, then back at Clint, still smiling. “You wanna skate?”

“You won’t get annoyed about having to clean the ice again?”

“Nah, not if you shoot a puck or two with me. And maybe I’ll draw another dick for you.”

Clint had definitely seen a word other than ‘puck’ on Bucky’s lips and, combined with the dick comment, he was blushing. He could feel it. But he just shrugged and grinned and pretended his thoughts hadn’t drifted to other things. “Yeah, all right.”

 

And that was where Tasha found them an hour later - out on the ice, laughing like kids and trying to outdo each other with trick shots, which were the only hockey skill Clint had ever been any good at. They were pretty evenly matched - though less so on the figure skating side, and when Steve walked in a little while later he found Tasha laughing silently in the bleachers, unnoticed by the two men on the ice, who were in the process of trying to disentangle themselves after a spinning lesson gone wrong.

Clint and Bucky did notice Steve’s less subtle presence, and stopped laughing long enough to actually separate, though they didn’t manage to get up, just sat with their butts on the ice, Bucky glaring at their spectators, Clint flushed or blushing or both.

 _’I complained to the network,’_ Steve signed to him. _’Several of us did and we won’t be the only ones. It was a mess. He insulted everyone. I think they’ll fire him.’_

Clint nodded. _’Thanks.’_

Steve nodded, and then smiled at the two of them, shaking his head. _"Don’t break my skater. Don’t break my friend."_ he admonished Bucky and Clint respectively, signing and speaking for the two of them, then waved and disappeared.

Tasha got up like she intended to follow him, but not before shooting a _"Have fun"_ and an eyebrow waggle at them. 

Clint looked over at Bucky, and felt his cheeks flush again. Bucky was a mess, his hair all over the place, his cheeks as red as Clint’s felt. And he was grinning, still.

“Uh…” Clint said, softly, and Bucky’s grin shifted a little. Turned softer. Then he got to his feet, and offered a hand to Clint. When they were up, Bucky pulled him into a hug, then pushed him back a little - slid him away over the ice - so they could meet eyes.

“You good?”

“Yeah. Thanks. I’m good. That was… uh. That was fun.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “We should do it more.”

“Or we could go on a date?” _Aw, mouth, no._

“Or I could kiss you right now?”

Clint blinked at him, then laughed, and Bucky was laughing, too. Okay. Maybe they were both a bit impulsive. That was okay. That was good. Clint nodded, and Bucky closed the space between them with a single push of a skate and kissed him. It was somehow softer than Clint had imagined, and yet exactly right. Exactly Bucky - the Bucky he’d seen that night, concerned and kind and open, and funny, and sweet. Which hadn’t been what Clint had expected from the brooding man with the perpetual frown - not what he’d expected, but better. Perfect.

When Bucky pulled away, he was smiling that softer smile, and he touched Clint’s still-flushed cheek, then chuckled softly. Clint’s hand was on Bucky’s chest, and he could feel the laughter there. “Natasha is clapping for us,” Bucky murmured, and Clint looked over his shoulder to see that yep, there was Tasha, still there, standing at the side of the rink and applauding like Clint had just landed a quad. Clint rolled his eyes and refocused on Bucky.

“So, about that date. And many dates? In the future?” 

Bucky just nodded and kissed him again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on a few other short fics in this universe - exploring Clint's background and partnership with Natasha, and his friendship with the Maximoffs. So those might pop up eventually. Also toying with doing a sequel to this one... we shall see.
> 
> If you want to see me yell a lot about figure skating, both real and fictional, come see me on Twitter. I could use some MCU content over there. https://twitter.com/IcyPetitsPois


End file.
